The Sandakan Death March

When Richard Murray, Keith Botterill and the group reached Paginatan they saw a vibrant little village of 20 or so huts stretching along the wide Kuanan River. Much to their relief they discovered a well-stocked food drop and a comfortable rest house. Their last few days had been horrific. The following morning they left with some renewed energy, but it was short lived. For Allan Quailey it had all become too much. High on a ridge overlooking Mt. Kinabalu, Quailey decided he would go no further. He was just a day from Ranau.

By the middle of May, less than four months after 452 PoWs started on the first march from Sandakan, only 30 were now left alive in Ranau. Botterill and Murray knew it was now or never. They managed to steal a 20kg bag of rice from a Japanese store and readied themselves for an escape when their theft was discovered. The 30 men were paraded out and lined up. Stealing rice was a capital offence for the Japanese and the men readied themselves for execution. No one said a word.

Richard Murray quietly stepped forward.

In Paginatan we meet Paulina, one of the last living connections to this dreadful past. “They looked so sad,” she says through an interpreter. “When they marched through the village they would look pleadingly at me and say ‘makan?’ (food).” Each night this young woman would risk Japanese retribution as she secretly left out a can filled with food. Each morning it would be empty. She remembers coming out one morning to discover eight wedding rings left for her in the bottom of the can. “They never returned after that.”

The horrors of Sandakan and the Death March still defy description. Prisoners were beaten and tortured, even castrated and crucified, but in Paginatan something more unimaginable occured. Local people describe how hungry Japanese soldiers culled prisoners from the group, cut off their arms and legs and brought the torsos to their camp for consumption.

The residents of Sandakan tell an interesting story of an elderly Japanese man who returned to the site of the camp a little over 20 years ago. He stripped down to a ceremonial loin cloth and knelt in front of the memorial. He stayed there, unmoving, for a day and a night until he collapsed and was taken to hospital.

Captured documents, dated as early as January 1944, indicate the hard line of the Japanese command. If their own soldiers proved to be “too obvious an obstruction to the efficient execution of the withdrawal, unavoidable instances, then sick and wounded must be disposed of.” The awkward syntax paints an ugly picture. For every 15 PoWs that died on the march, 10 Japanese died as well.

After Richard Murray’s death, Keith Boterill withdrew into himself but remained committed to an escape. On the evening of July 7, he and three companions disappeared into the jungle. Six weeks later they would be rescued. Bill Moxham, Nelson Short, Bill Sticpewich, Owen Campbell, Dick Braithwaite and Keith Botterill survived Sandakan. No one else did.

The route between Paginatan and Ranau proves to be the most beautiful part of our trek. We drift in and out of picturesque villages as we move over the rolling hills of the region. At one point we’re welcomed by hundreds of school children dressed in their blue and white uniforms, all smiling and laughing, wanting their photo to be taken. The country-side is a mix of jungle and cultivation, set to the backdrop of the great Mt. Kinabalu, a nearly 4,000 metre granite monolith that completely dominates the landscape. Although beautiful to us, the PoWs grew to hate the mountain. To them it symbolised agony and pain just as everything else did on this trek.

Our last hill before Ranau is fittingly brutal. It’s pushing 40 degrees and there’s no escape from the sun. The group spreads apart on the climb. We regroup for our descent into Ranau. We’re going to finish this together. It’s another couple of hours on a dusty track when the village finally comes into view. The pace begins to quicken and the troops start to fall in. It all happens so naturally. I move to the back and observe as the nine proud soldiers march up to the memorial.

And once there, no one says a thing.

This entry was posted on Monday, August 21st, 2006 at 9:42 pm and is filed under Features. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a comment, or trackback from your own site. Add to del.icio.us.